


Age Appropriate

by GlassRain



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Bilingual Character(s), Dry Humping, Established Relationship, Hair Brushing, Illustrated, M/M, Magical Accidents, pseudo-underage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-22 09:40:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11964744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlassRain/pseuds/GlassRain
Summary: A magic spell causes Viktor and Yuuri to be de-aged by 11 years. Yurioswearshe'll fix it. In the meantime, the couple have some unusual conversations . . . and put their newly-restored teenage stamina to good use.





	Age Appropriate

**Author's Note:**

> This comes with [a wonderful illustration](http://omtivi.tumblr.com/post/164854437200/for-yoi-shit-bang-de-agedviktor-and-yuuri-from) by Omtivi! Thank you to the mods for helping fans of Problematic Content(TM) meet each other and work together :)

This year's Cup of China was the first time Viktor and Yuuri officially booked a single hotel room for their stay in a foreign city. You would think this would offer all kinds of . . . _opportunities_. Judging by the first night, you'd be wrong. A combination of travel exhaustion and jet-lag meant Viktor neglected to brush his teeth, Yuuri didn't make the effort to unpack his pajamas, and both collapsed into dreamless sleep without so much as a good-night kiss.

The long uninterrupted night did Yuuri's body good, although not so much good that he felt like skipping his morning caffeine. With the morning sun slanting through the cracks Viktor had left in the curtains, he untwined himself from the sheets and got up to find the coffee maker.

He tripped over his own feet and fell flat on his face.

Blushing furiously, Yuuri picked himself up, touching his cheeks to feel if he'd gotten rug burn. It had been a long time since he'd been this clumsy. He threw a nervous look at the bed in hopes that Viktor was still too passed-out to notice.

The bed . . . was full of hair.

Yuuri blinked. Then he squinted. Then he did a full-body start, nearly hitting the carpet all over again, when he remembered he hadn't put on his glasses. Not only was Viktor's sleeping body draped with a mass of silvery hair -- as if it had grown two feet overnight, like some fairytale princess -- but Yuuri could see it in sharp relief, could tell exactly where it stopped and the pale-grey sheets began.

He tiptoed up to Viktor's side of the bed and prodded the blanket-draped lump that was probably a shoulder. "Viktor? Something's happened. Are you okay? Viktor, wake up . . . "

His coach/idol/boyfriend grunted, stretched, and muttered something that could have been half-asleep English but might as well have been Russian for all Yuuri understood it. He sat up, did that cute little head-toss that got his bangs out of his face . . . then did a double-take of his own when he locked eyes with Yuuri.

"Hello," he said, in cautious English. "Are you a relative of Yuuri's? Did he let you in?"

"Viktor, it's _me,_ " said Yuuri, and noticed for the first time that his voice sounded off. Was he coming down with something? "Do I look different? _You_ look different, you look . . . "

He was about to say _like when you won your first Grand Prix_ , except that the Viktor on his televison set back then had come with immaculate silky hair and flawless features. This Viktor's hair looked like it hadn't been brushed for days. And was that _acne?_

Yuuri must have been gesturing vaguely at his head, because Viktor put a hand to his hair. His fingers went in, and promptly got stuck. After a slight recalibration he was holding a handful of his now-waist-length locks, looking between them and Yuuri. "Do I look younger?"

Mouth hanging slightly open, Yuuri nodded.

"And you haven't seen yourself yet?" (Yuuri shook his head.) "Then you should. Let's go."

Yuuri was used to the men around him being taller. He'd lived in the United States for years, now he was living in Russia, and so many of his acquaintances were Westerners of some sort.

He was not, however, used to being _loomed_ over. And this possibly-teenage Viktor, it turned out, loomed. Instead of being half a head shorter than him, Yuuri's eyes were somewhere on the level of his chest.

They walked together toward the suite bathroom, taking slow steps. Partly because Yuuri had a sinking suspicion of how he was going to look and wanted to put off being sure as long as possible. Partly because it turned out he hadn't tripped over his own feet so much as the hems of his slacks, and he didn't want to do that again.

He ignored the pounding footsteps in the hall, the way you ignore a hotel's general miasma of other people's noise, until it stopped close to their door and was replaced with muffled arguing.

Yuuri looked pleadingly at Viktor. He couldn't be sure of the language at that volume, but he recognized at least one of the voices.

"I'll get it," said Viktor, patting Yuuri on the back to nudge him onward. "Go on."

Yuuri hiked up his trouser legs and darted into the bathroom.

 

* * *

 

Viktor opened the door a half second after the first knock, so Yuri Plisetsky nearly fell in, whilst Georgi was in the middle of saying, in Russian, "We don't even know that anything has --"

Both men broke off and stared. Viktor smiled.

"See?!" demanded Yuri, gesturing emphatically at Viktor with both hands.

"You didn't tell me you were serious!" cried Georgi.

"You didn't tell _me_ you were _actually_ a witch!" countered Yuri.

"Gentlemen, please!" said Viktor in English. "Let's be polite to the international audience. I take it you have some idea what's going on?"

"International audience? Is that fake Yuuri here?" huffed Yuri -- though Viktor noted that he did it in English. Overall he looked more mature than usual, even as he craned his neck to look around Viktor and scan the hotel suite.

"An unfortunate accident," added Georgi, with a dramatic pout. As if this was the result of the universe doing _him_ a great wrong. And Viktor had the sudden disconcerting realization that he didn't look nearly as silly as usual while doing it. "It can be fixed, I assure you! With Yuri's cooperation, it will take no more than an hour."

"I'll cooperate, _obviously_ ," snapped Yuri. "But what if it's both of them?"

"Is it both of you?"

"Oh, yes," said Viktor, still smiling. "No question."

He didn't so much as twitch in the direction of the bathroom. Yuuri looked younger than he'd been at his international skating debut; he wasn't accustomed to having that body seen by people around the world. If he didn't want their colleagues seeing him at that age, Viktor would protect his privacy.

It turned out not to be necessary. Yuri, still scanning the room, caught his breath; Georgi pushed him down in order to lean over his head. Viktor followed their gazes.

"You're saying you can undo this?" asked the round-faced, bright-eyed, adorably shy tween version of Yuuri.

"Y-yes," stammered Georgi. "Although it will take a while."

"We'll get started right away," added Yuri with startling earnestness. No insults, no sarcasm, not even the hint of a snarl.

"Oh, I think not _right_ away," said Viktor, putting a hand on Yuri's shoulder. Judging by the way Yuri froze, he understood the danger in Viktor's unwavering smile. "Since we are going to be in this state for some time . . . before you do anything else . . . you will return to your room and fetch for me your finest acne treatment and _all_ your conditioner."

 

* * *

 

Viktor took over the bathroom for a session of intense face-washing, then recruited Yuuri to help with his hair. So Yuuri ended up sitting on the edge of the mattress, heels dangling in the air, instead of hiding under the covers where he really wanted to be.

He was awkward at the best of times, and this was not his best. He was short. Chubby-cheeked. Wearing the smallest clothes out of his suitcase, and still he had to roll up his trouser legs and regularly push his T-shirt back up on his shoulders. Not badly overweight, but this body wasn't from an age when he'd been on a competition-circuit exercise routine, and it showed.

At least Viktor wasn't _looking_ at him. Beautiful teenage Viktor was sitting on a footstool facing the window, so Yuuri could spray his silver hair with a fancy Russian leave-in conditioner and run a comb through it by the handful. No small task. But of course this was Viktor, who could have worn a bird's nest on his head and made it look good.

Viktor took a deep sigh, one that heaved his shoulders and made his back brush against Yuuri's knuckles. Of course _his_ clothes still fit perfectly, shirt sliding over the lean muscle underneath. Yuuri's heart jumped. Among other things.

"I understand magic isn't as common in Japan," said Viktor. His voice had a newly youthful energy, and yet paradoxically sounded old and worldly, and it entirely ruined Yuuri's plans to not think about how attractive he was. "Have you seen a transformation before?"

"Once," admitted Yuuri. "It wasn't like this, though. Yuuko . . . we had a competition, and she paid some cut-rate witch stylist to give her a fancy hairdo."

"Oh? How did it look?"

"Pastel. For a week. Her parents were furious -- they thought she'd gotten it dyed."

What if this also lasted for a week? Yuuri wouldn't make all his scheduled programs. Or he could go, and hope the judges' pity would outweigh his physical inability to do more than half the jumps. At least Viktor still had the shape of an international champion.

As if following along with his thoughts, Viktor said, "You must have been so cute at local competitions. You were already doing them at this age, right? I know you followed skating from when you were quite young."

Yuuri could feel himself blushing, and was doubly glad he was looking at the back of Viktor's head. He pressed the comb to Viktor's scalp just above his right ear, and ran it all the way through the hair to its waist-length tips. "All kids are cute. Even Yuuko's triplets are rascals, but cute."

"Not the same kind. You're . . ." Viktor muttered something under his breath in Russian, sounding almost frustrated, then switched back to calm and seductive English: "I don't know if this language has a word for it. You're _this_ kind of cute."

He reached over his shoulder and ran a gentle touch up Yuuri's leg.

With a yelp Yuuri flung himself backward and dragged the bedsheets around himself in a messy spiral. It wasn't a perfect solution -- he didn't need to get hotter, he needed a cold shower -- but it was all he had. "Don't do that!"

Viktor's hair was clean enough that the comb fell neatly out of it as he turned. His face, too, looked much clearer, all youthfully smooth and unlined even as he raised his eyebrows in subtle concern. "You usually like that. Is something wrong?"

"I'm too young for you!" blurted Yuuri.

His boyfriend smiled. "Ah yes, twenty-four, so young. Practically a minor. What an awful cradle-robber I am."

"I mean -- right now, I -- you _obviously_ don't think I'm -- you know --!"

Viktor planted his elbows on the edge of the mattress and rested his chin in his hands, gazing up at Yuuri's disheveled ball of sheets through hooded lashes. "This shy insecure attitude of yours is much cuter on the face of a child."

"Well," snapped Yuuri, "the way _you_ turn everything into a pushy sexy joke because you can't stand being serious and getting rejected is much more forgivable on a teenager."

Viktor's face fell.

Yuuri pushed out his bottom lip, feeling sulky and knowing he looked it, but too cross and flustered to rein himself in. This was embarrassing enough without Viktor being . . . Viktor.

 

* * *

 

All right, so maybe Viktor overdid it sometimes. Maybe the way he kept people off-balance was a little unfair. Although that wasn't all his fault in Yuuri's case! He'd spent a long time seeing Yuuri as the open and inviting friend from the party, not realizing Yuuri still thought of him as an intimidating distant role model . . .

And maybe he should stop and consider what Yuuri thought was going on right now.

"Perhaps you haven't heard this before," he said slowly. "Being transformed can change your perception. If for example you were turned into a dog, you would see only in black-and-white. So now . . . perhaps you noticed, when Yurio was here, he looked unusually adult and mature?"

The sheet shifted around Yuuri's shoulders as he shrugged. "I thought that was part of the spell. He and Georgi made themselves older, and it accidentally made us younger by, um, the law of equivalent exchange? Or something."

"Not that I could see. I think it's just our eyes. Right now I look at Yurio and see someone very close to my age, which makes him look different even though I know on the inside he hasn't changed. And you . . . when you look at me, it's not like the feelings you usually have when looking at a teenager, right?"

Yuuri's face, which had been starting to return to its normal color, flamed red again. "No!"

"Well then . . . "

"But -- I have _memories_ of you at this age," protested Yuuri. "I remember you winning golds, and I remember my . . . feelings about it. It's different for you. You didn't know me at all."

"No," said Viktor, and silently thanked Fate for making it work out that way. He'd not have been able to appreciate the "feelings" of the real tween Yuuri nearly as well. "But I know you now. And what I see when I look at you is an unusually small and cute version of my extremely attractive boyfriend."

Emphasis on _cute_. When they got back to normal he would have to see about getting Yuuri some oversized shirts. (And he was already enjoying the thought of Yurio's embarrassed squawk when Viktor thanked him for giving them the idea.)

"So you see, when I flirt with you now I'm not joking or teasing. I intend to follow through." Viktor tucked a lock of hair back behind his ear -- a gesture that had stayed habitual for months after he'd originally gotten it cut, and came right back now. "Unless of course this is all too strange for you, in which case I will stop and we can talk about gardening or our Chinese tourism plans or the latest season of anime until this is over."

The sheets slid down as Yuuri relaxed. "It's . . . not too weird."

One hand emerged and smoothed back Viktor's hair behind the other ear. Even with all this talk of flirting and attraction, Viktor was startled at the shock of enjoyment he got from the touch of Yuuri's currently-dainty fingers.

"I didn't have, um, specific fantasies about you back then," added Yuuri self-consciously.

"So I can't fulfill any long-held daydreams?" Viktor rose to his feet, lithe and graceful and not any faster than he needed to. "Can I still be the exotic skating star who lets you visit his dressing room for an autograph, and ends up sweeping you off your feet?"

 

* * *

 

Yuuri didn't realize Viktor meant it literally until he was lifted into the air.

They weren't going to go find an ice rink, and even if they did their skates wouldn't fit, so they did a kind of approximate routine with ballet steps around the suite's common area. By the second lift Yuuri saw it coming, and did a helpful leap into Viktor's arms as they hoisted him into the air.

He was doing fine until the gentle grip of Viktor's hands on his midsection made his brain overheat, and his legs went from elegantly pointed to shaking so hard that Viktor's hold slipped. They crashed to the ground in a tangle of limbs, Viktor's silvery hair splayed out across the carpet, Yuuri's erection pinned between their stomachs with a fierce pressure that took his breath away.

Viktor laughed in a way that Yuuri had come to recognize as self-conscious, but happy all the same, and drew up his knees so he was grinding against Yuuri's ass.

The contact made Yuuri's eyes glaze over in a way no glasses would have fixed. They rutted against each other for a few frantic moments, still fully-clothed and too overwhelmed to bother doing anything about it. Viktor pawed at Yuuri's thighs, trying to reach around them and stroke his own cock -- Yuuri squirmed with total abandon, clutching at Viktor's lean arms and strong chest -- the orgasm hit so fast he barely felt it coming, and then they were both lying limp on the floor with pounding hearts and damp trousers.

Viktor was the first to go for a kiss. Yuuri twisted away, thinking it would be too much, feeling almost transported out of his body by the rush it wasn't quite big enough to handle.

"I hope that was okay," said Viktor. Not prying, but leaving space for Yuuri to answer.

"It was . . . a lot," stammered Yuuri. "Hold me?"

So Viktor wrapped him in a gentle hug, and Yuuri nuzzled into his boyfriend's chest. His legs were splayed at odd angles; he could feel his trouser legs had come unrolled, flopping down over his small feet. The slowing rise and fall of Viktor's breath was comforting against his cheek.

"Not to hurry you, dear," added Viktor, petting his hair, "but maybe we could change, and then go back to holding?"

"M-maybe. Okay." Yuuri sat up.

He was straddling Viktor's waist now, gazing down at a Viktor's face, youthful and bright-eyed and framed by a fan of hair that couldn't have looked more elegant if it had been staged for a magazine cover. 

For all that Yuuri's teenage stamina was painfully short-lived, his teenage refractory period was suddenly giving it a run for its money. "Actually, um, Viktor . . . are you okay with . . . holding still? While I move?"

A pleased blush spread across Viktor's pale face. "It is safe to say I am okay with that."

 

* * *

 

Yuuri scooted back on his knees until he could palm the front of Viktor's trousers, making Viktor gasp. He could see now the slight tenting between Yuuri's legs, and his own erection shot back up with a vengeance.

"It was almost too good, the first time." Yuuri was touching them both now, stroking almost painfully slowly. "Like being on a roller coaster that goes too fast. But I want . . . I want . . ."

His eyes were glazing over again as he ground his hips against Viktor's. It took all Viktor's self-control, fingers clawing at the carpet and teeth sinking sharp into his bottom lip, not to go right back to thrusting up against the friction before his boyfriend finished.

"If I control the pace . . . that's what I want. If that's . . . okay."

"Ah, Yuuri," said Viktor, dizzy with anticipation. "I asked you about your fantasies, but I forgot to tell you about mine."

Yuuri half-focused on him, slack-jawed in a way that was adorable on his little round face.

"I used to fantasize . . . that a pretty boy would sneak into my dressing room." And then he'd shaken off the fantasy, suppressed it, half-forgotten it for all those years. Until now. "He wouldn't expect me to be calm, and poised, and to always know what I was doing. Instead he would, ah . . . hold me down and have his way with me."

"Ohhh," said Yuuri slowly. "I guess it's okay, then."

The English word _yes_ almost disappeared in Viktor's breath.

 

* * *

 

Viktor was half asleep, and Yuuri was weighing the perks of capturing this adorable moment forever versus the risks of carrying around a photo of a cute apparently-teen-boy in his bed, when a soft violet glow surrounded them both.

"Viktor, honey, wake up," said Yuuri, shaking him. "Is this the --?"

Before he even finished the question, the hand before his eyes grew larger and bonier, his vision blurred, and he felt Viktor's long teen hairstyle melting away under his fingers.

By the time Yurio and Georgi came crashing back down the hall to their door, Yuuri had his adult glasses back on and Viktor was ready to give the troublemakers his most dangerously beatific smile. Georgi immmediately launched into a monologue about how mature and unaffected they looked, why, it was like they had never been victims of unauthorized magic at all, certainly none that they might go around complaining about.

"It's all right, really," said Yuuri. "We even had some fun."

Yurio snorted. "Fun, hah! Don't tell me. I don't want to know any of your sordid details."

"Oh, Yuri, I'm sure it wasn't _sordid_ ," laughed Georgi. "Why, they were so young! Even Viktor couldn't have been older than you are."

Viktor hid some kind of undignified chortle behind his hand, while Yurio growled and dug his heels into the floor and said, "Anyway, is it _done_ now? You're normal, it's over, we can all move on with our lives?"

"I think we can," said Yuuri reassuringly. "Out of curiosity -- what kind of spell were you originally trying to do, anyway?"

"Only the most gorgeous, dramatic, incredible --" began Georgi with a theatrical flourish.

Yurio cut him off with an elbow to the stomach. "I was talking about _hypothetical ideas_ for an exhibition skate," he snapped. "Which I will never do with this idiot again! Beka and I will work it out by ourselves, with no magic, and come up with something _great_."

**Author's Note:**

> Come be my friend on Tumblr, where I reblog gay skaters and other fun things: http://glassrain83.tumblr.com/


End file.
